


melody

by honeyshua



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, guitarist! Mark, lee donghyuck - Freeform, markhyuck, markhyuck fluff, markhyuck one shot, nct - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 13:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyshua/pseuds/honeyshua
Summary: Mark is a guitarist and Donghyuck is empty.





	melody

**Author's Note:**

> I whipped this up because I'm jobless anyway I hope you don't throw up and hmu @dreamlustbtsvt on twt to yell at me uwu

 

"Stop, stop, stop," his brain screamed inside his cranium as another crash registered and Mark winced. His dad had broken the second vase of the past hour in bursts of anger and frustration, the only sounds other than his yells and his mothers' shrieks. What started as a disagreement on something trivial has turned into a battle; with accusations being hurled from both sides like knives. 

Basically it was a typical day in the Lee household. And Mark was tired. 

He ran his fingers through his her black hair in annoyance before grabbing his guitar and silver notebook and heading out of his house, his parents too occupied in detesting each other to inquire where he was going at such a late hour. It was okay though. He was used to it. 

He sighed into the night as he walked, mist forming in the air before him. His heart felt less heavy as the cold breeze kissed his face and the familiar, comforting weight of his guitar rested on his shoulders and his precious notebook pressed to his chest.

Soon he reached his destination and the tiniest smile found it's way on his face. He went to his favourite spot in the park, right by the pond. The moonlight illuminated the little ripples the breeze made in the water and the netted starlight falling on the strings of his guitar as he ran his fingers across the fretboard, weaving the notes into something, made him feel whole and calm as he strummed. 

He wished he had a voice good enough to sing along to his melodies as be flipped through the pages of his notebook, filled with melodies that would never be sung. 

●

"Is this what it's like to feel broken?," Donghyuck asked himself as he wiped away his tears, only to find that his palm was smeared with black. Great. His boyfriend cheated on him and his mascara was ruined. Fucking great. 

He felt rather weak as he trudged around aimlessly, still in his party clothes and his (now ruined) makeup. He couldn't get the image of Jeno kissing that boy out of his head, it had decided to haunt him as a reminder of his inadequacy. 

Donghyuck felt like such a fool, not realising that he was being cheated on until his boyfriend was wasted enough to give it away himself. For dismissing the taste on Jenos' tongue when he knew it wasn't his own. For turning a blind eye even when he realised that he smelled  
of jasmine and the ocean. Jeno hated jasmines. 

Letting out a deep sigh and watching the mist fade out in front of him, he realised that more than Jeno himself, it was the idea of Jeno that he was in love with. The boy he had been crushing on throughout middle school, eyes following him behind his thick glasses and his messy bangs. When puberty finally worked his magic on Donghyuck, when Jeno finally asked him out, that was when he felt less like the ugly duckling. Jeno made him feel like a swan. 

Then, from somewhere, he heard a melody, so entrancing that he couldn't help but follow it. It led him to a pond ; and a boy with a cream coloured guitar. 

He couldn't see his face, but Donghyuck sat there as soundlessly as he could, smiling as the boy kept playing and the wind kept making little silver ripples in the pond. He was a pure magician. 

And then he stopped, only for a second, before switching to another song. A smile found its way on Donghyucks' face as he recognised the song; Missing You by All Time Low, his favourite song from the times in middle school when he felt his insecurities eating him inside. His song of hope. He couldn't help but sing along. 

●

Marks' head shot up as the beautiful voice sang along to his instrument. He turned around, not stopping as the song was basically muscle memory from hours and hours of playing it till his fingers bled as his parents spat poison at each other. They took away his childhood, but they could never take away that song. The song of hope. 

And now someone, someone who seemed to be some kind of an angel, was sharing his song with him and it didn't feel intrusive. It felt calm. The song was finally complete. 

Then Marks' eyes met the strangers', fingers almost slipping from the fretboard when he set his eyes on the boy. The boy who gave him a smile as he sang along, in that rich, beautiful, angelic voice, a smile so wide and beautiful and bright that Mark felt dazzled. The boys' golden skin shone brighter in the faint light, almost like a defiant sun to fight the moonlight. Black dried streams of mascara streaked his face, his peach lip gloss was smeared, but his brown hair was artfully tousled and streaked with pink. In short, he was the most beautiful boy Mark had ever seen. 

He felt almost disappointed as the song finished and the boy stopped singing, he had somehow gotten addicted to his voice in just a few verses. It was just inexplicably beautiful. 

"You have a nice voice," Mark stuttered out, cheeks heating up when his eyes met the boys' and he noticed that they held the moonlight. Everything about him was ethereal. 

"Thank you but your playing is, sensational," he said, pink curve stretching wider. "I'm Donghyuck by the way," he extended a hand, which Mark shyly shook. The softness and warmth of his hands and the slight tightness with which his fingers enclosed his palm almost made Mark overwhelmed. 

"I'm Mark."

●

Mark. It sounded pretty. 

Donghyuck couldn't contain his smiles around the starry eyed boy with the guitar, sitting next to him for hours into the night asking him to play more for him and enjoying seeing the red rush into his cheeks. He found the way the corners of his mouth lifted up slightly whenever he sang along endearing. He hadn't felt so comfortable and whole and real in so long. 

The sun crept up the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and yellow and red and that was when they realised, in the middle of what was probably their hundredth song of the night, that they had spent the entire night by the pond together and all they knew was the others' names. Yet with the sun illuminating their skins and the dents in Marks' fingers deeper they had ever been and Donghyucks' voice worn and sore, they felt so connected that it was strange, but calming. 

Maybe that's why Donghyuck said yes immediately when Mark asked him if he wanted to grab a cup of coffee, eyes downcast and glinting with shyness and golden cheekbones holding a hint of his smile. 

●

He didn't know how but someway or the other his pinky finger had interlocked with Donghyucks' on their way to the cafe. And the didn't break the contact even while ordering their beverages. 

They sat down and Mark let the rich, familiar taste spread across his tongue, throwing his head back while listening to Donghyuck talk about himself in his magical voice, answering his questions with more information about himself than he should probably tell a stranger, but somehow the warmth in Donghyucks' eyes spelt out safety to him. 

They talked about their favourite songs, their favorite colour, how Mark could love watermelons but hate watermelon flavoured ice cream at the same time, which animal they would like to be. Somewhere in the middle of Donghyucks' rant about why Michael Jackson was the artist of the millennium, Mark reached out and held Donghyucks' hand, goosebumps erupting on his skin as he felt the warmth spread across his palms and heat up his fingers. Donghyuck said nothing but the redness of the tips of his ears gave the game away. 

In that moment, Mark felt okay after so long. Maybe his parents would still be fucked up, maybe he would never be able to pursue music, maybe Donghyuck would still be insecure, but somehow it felt as if everything would feel okay if he had those hands in his own. 

-


End file.
